


The Stranger God

by plume_solitaire



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Slow Burn, character study on the relationship of the Dumbledore brothers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-29
Packaged: 2021-02-25 00:48:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22007233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plume_solitaire/pseuds/plume_solitaire
Summary: June, 1897. Before the eldest Dumbledore became the man of his times, he arrived in Athens with his brother for a trip. Naturally, they tried to go their separate ways. But the Fates spun threads that bind, and played a joke.
Relationships: Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald
Kudos: 3





	1. Chapter 1

Monday-June 21st, 1897

Lounged on an old deck chair that he’d long outgrown, Albus watched the thick British fog impose its unfailing stranglehold over the skies and streets of Godric’s Hollow. Summer never truly came to his hometown, and he had resolved to escape its miring grayness by returning as seldom as possible.

And so Albus had planned the next two months of summer away from Hogwarts accordingly, packing it to the brim with sunshine and activities of precocious prestige. He had concluded his 5th year two days prior, and would depart Godric’s Hollow tomorrow. First to sunlit Athens, as Great Britain’s representative in the International Convention of Youth Warlocks. Then to luminous Paris, to study the twelve uses of dragon blood with the Flamels. Not to mention the generous Ministry sponsorship of 2400 galleons to fund his research. All would be well, of course — his talents were not to be overlooked. 

Excitement—the roiling, impatient kind—swelled within him at the thought of enriching his resume and escaping his village. In fact, the plan had been to skip Godric’s Hollow entirely and go straight to Athens after finishing his O.W.L.S. Headmaster Black had permitted it. He ought to be there right now, preparing his debate points for the Convention, or perhaps inspecting the exhibitions that the Athenian Ministry of Magic opened for wizarding tourists. 

But in one fell swoop, Aberforth had transfigured the Malfoy heir into a pig in a duel. He just had to, of course. The act cost Gryffindor the House Cup and Albus had to escort his brother home through the Hogwart’s Express.

Presently, Ariana’s tinkling laughter broke him from his thoughts. Albus looked up to see his sister pursued by Aberforth’s baby goat, who nipped at her skirts. A rare flush lit up her cheeks. 

It struck him then, how she never seemed to grow any taller— only thinner and weaker. Such was the toll of the obscurus within. It drained the rose from her cheeks and lips and sucked the flesh from her bones. Leaving her as pale and gray as that fog. 

Kendra hurried over and shooed the goat away. “Now now, Ariana, stop running. You’ll be overtired,” she chided. 

Her back was turned on Albus, as it was for most of his childhood. The demands of caring for Ariana’s condition occupied all of her attention; had taxed away her once-straight back and lowered it into a premature stoop. 

Albus clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Really mother, she ought to be exercising. Perhaps take her to Dover Beach — she needs that sunshine and fresh air.” 

“Nonsense, Albus. She’d catch a chill and be bedridden again before you know it. And you know she’s got no appetite; I cannot always get her to eat.” 

Ariana made a sound of discontent and padded back into the house, fragile limbs lost in the swirl of her muslin dress. A gust of wind could have blown her away.

A touch of exasperation furrowed Albus’ brow. “If she is not even allowed frolic, she won’t be hungry. But here we have her cooped up in the house, and now she’s looking worse than even last winter—” 

“And what, sunlight and fresh air will cure her? Do you hear yourself? The obscurus, it’s congesting her alive!”Aberforth interjected. Albus hadn’t even seen him emerge from behind the barn. 

“Interrupting now, Aberforth? Now what was it that Headmaster Black said again? Scores very poor, conduct perpetually disgraceful? A shame on Gryffindor House?”

Playing prefect at home, aren’t we? I’d give you more clout if you and that French blighter figured out an obscurial potion but nay, you’re off to find what, the thirteenth use of dragon’s blood—”

“Boys!” Kendra shouted, breaking their deadlock. “If you keep up with this, I’ll charm you both with Silencio for the rest of the day!”

“There’s no need. I’ll be upstairs, packing my trunk. ” said Albus. He turned to leave. 

“You stop right there Albus,” warned Kendra in a voice so stern that he stopped in his tracks immediately. She put her hands on her hips and studied her sons. “Now what is it between you two? I suppose you argue like this at school?” 

“Not to worry, mum, we don’t even talk at Hogwarts,” replied Aberforth. He was no good with his words as usual, and attentive to a fault. But he was right, silence was the usual discourse between the Dumbledore brothers. 

“Don’t talk?”

“Well I’ll be summering at Athens and Paris starting tomorrow, so you won’t have to listen to us bicker,” assured Albus.

“Hold on, where is all this resentment coming from? If you aren’t on speaking terms with each other—”

“Yes well when we talk, we argue, and Aberforth has argued and duelled with just about everyone at school, and I’ve been there to clean up his mess every time because I’m a House prefect, and have you seen the comments he gets on his reports? I quote: scores very poor, conduct disgraceful—”

“Then it’s about time that you do something together to fix that. You’re brothers! Now Albus you’ll be going to Athens tomorrow for the Convention. Aberforth owled me last month saying that he wants to watch the International Youth Duelling Championship there--” 

“Merlin’s Beard, mother! The Championship is parallel to the Convention! It’s held at the same time so I can’t keep an eye on him! And besides, don’t you think he’s had enough exposure to duelling? He turned Malfoy into a pig last week, and now you’re letting him watch a duelling competition?” 

“The Duelling Leagues might recruit this season. It would look good on your brother’s records if he considers a profession as an auror.” 

Albus buried his head in his hands.

“No, mum. The Leagues are national. Only Continental students participate. Britain’s got no team because the Ministry forbids participation in the Championship for some beastly reason. I’ll use the pub wages to buy a ticket and we'll go separately,” said Aberforth. 

Albus jabbed a finger at him. “Don’t forget you haven’t got the scores to be an auror!”

“Don’t quibble, either of you,” snapped Kendra. “I didn’t raise you two to hate each other. You only need to go to Athens together. Aberforth, don’t bother using those wages. Your father has left us enough of an inheritance. I’ll give both of you a good sum to buy what you want. Get along, for goodness’ sake! Eat what you like and visit those stores together. And dear Albus, I trust that you shall win that Best Delegate award you spoke of. Book your brother a room in the same hotel and apparate him home after the Convention ends.”

Albus said nothing in return, which was better than anything he would’ve liked to say. 

**********

Tuesday~ June 22nd, 1897

The weather the morning of their departure was no more promising, if not even more dismal. To escape it, Albus awoke at dawn and apparated Aberforth and their belongings to a wizarding seaport in Dover, which was invisible to the Muggle eye.

They boarded a pegasus-drawn carriage that flew them across the Strait to Lyon in 6 hours. Against Kendra’s wishes the trip was conducted in total silence, as the two boys had resumed the unspoken pact of ignoring each other as much as possible. It was noon when they arrived at the French city, but it would be four more hours when they could board the next flying carriage to Athens. 

Personally, Albus was incensed by the current method of travel. Even though they’d paid extra for an expedited flight, it would still be a full day before they would arrive in Athens. If the great dasher of plans had not done what he did best, Albus could have apparated there the moment he’d stepped out of Hogwarts’ grounds. But now with less than a week before the wizarding world’s most talented youths would convene in Athens, the Greek Ministry had placed anti-Apparition charms over the national borders as a precaution against any magical criminals that could enter the fray. 

To pass the time, the brothers stored their trunks in a locker and split up to explore the wizarding portions of Lyon. Albus entered Rue de La Tenue Sorcière and bought himself a plum tie and colorful socks charmed with animated embroidery. Then he admired a purple robe on display in another couture house. To his chagrin, it was too short and narrow-shouldered for his lanky frame. 

A glint of auburn hair in the neighboring shop caught his eye. When he saw that it belonged to Aberforth, Albus balked. The latter spent more time trimming the goats than his own hair. Not even Ariana could convince him to wear new trousers. What was he doing in a couture-house?

As he entered the shop he discovered hell had not actually frozen over. The shop was in fact a toy boutique. But the next revelation did not please Albus. His brother was paying for a girl’s doll. It was a large doll, though not so large that she’d be difficult to carry around — with curling golden-brown hair and real eyelashes. Albus was sure that Aberforth had spent a good half of his allowance on it. 

The young witch behind the counter thanked Aberforth in accented English, and placed the doll inside a trunk. As he approached, Albus watched her levitate the doll’s sizeable wardrobe in the trunk. There were velvet robes and fur muffs of the newest Parisian style, paired with matching frocks of lace and silk and muslin. There were even little feathered pointed hats and lace-trimmed underclothes. 

Albus clamped a hand on Aberforth’s shoulder. “What in Merlin’s name, Abe? A doll that she may not even like, and a first-rate wardrobe for it too?” 

“Don’t be jealous that the pretty clothes aren’t for you. And Ariana likes dolls.” 

“She’s already twelve—that’s too old for dolls.” 

“Well she liked the ones I got for her in Hogsmeade in December. And you’re awful as usual. Already I know you’ve only bought things for yourself.” 

Albus’ eye twitched in incredulity as the doll’s last frilled petticoat descended into its trunk, which was nearly the size of his own. His jaw clenched as he tried to swallow the anger. If he voiced his complete sentiments than he’d end up referencing Ariana’s condition in public. 

At last, he spoke. 

“No you don’t understand. Our carriage probably can’t hold an extra trunk. I don’t suppose I can save you if we end up falling from the sky.”

Aberforth snatched the trunk and fled from Albus. But the elder Dumbledore caught up to him in a single stride. 

Cursing his shortness, Aberforth sighed. “Well you didn’t want to take the Muggle train to Athens because it would take to damn long. So falling out of the sky it is. And I suppose my death would be a damn good riddance to you.” 

Albus rolled his eyes. Such an irritant this little brother was. Teeth-grindingly so. He took all of Albus’ words and shoved them back into his mouth. 

They headed to the carriage port, once again in silence.


	2. Chapter 2

Wednesday ~ June 23rd, 1897 Dawn 

The carriage jolted heavily as the pegases began their descent upon Athens. A disgruntled Albus watched Aberforth clutch the doll’s trunk. A moment prior, it had been teetering precariously close to the door. One more rattle by the carriage, and the infernal gift would have barreled open the door and they’d be sucked out into oblivion. 

Albus could conceal his irritation no longer and slapped his knee. 

“Goodness,” he spat, “how many dolls does a girl need? Right now she is not even allowed to manage the most rudimentary of spells. She might as well be a Squib. Would it hurt that much to get her something useful, perhaps a spellbook?” 

Aberforth lowered his voice. “You know she’s in no fit state for spellwork, at least not right now. If she tries...she could--”

“And what, pray tell, is she going to do? Drop dead?”

Aberforth winced. They’d always argued, but this was the first occasion Albus saw him falter.

Albus looked down at the younger Dumbledore from his half-moon glasses. He wagged his finger in the same manner used to reprimand impudent first-years at Hogwarts. 

“Fear not, Abe. I don’t see that happening if you and mother, her favorite people, are in the room coaching her. She was born a witch, and that must never be denied. And she looks wretched. Utterly wretched! She’d sooner be dead from the cold and not getting out of bed than anything else.” 

“You can’t just sit her down and tell her to do magic. Like mum said she’d explode the roof off the house and fall into stupor or fever. That’s why she was so ill when we came home for Christmas. But what can I say -- you don’t believe anything if you don’t see it. 

Albus didn’t reply. He realized now that this wayward brother excelled not only in duelling and dashing his plans, but also ending all of their conversations before it had even begun. 

*************

At eleven in the morning their carriage landed at the gleaming pink statue of a scallop, with a pearl-shaped portkey ensconced in the folds. A single touch pulled them immediately into Poseidon’s Lair, Albus’ hotel. It was an impressive crystal structure half-carved in the bay across the Acropolis and half-submerged in the sea. A masterpiece of wizarding architecture not meant for the Muggle gaze. 

Upon his arrival at the front desk, the concierge told Albus that an extra bed in his suite for Aberforth would cost 400 galleons, and that the rest of the rooms were fully booked for the delegates of the Convention and Duelling Leagues. The Ministry had paid last month for Albus’ stay.  
Needless to say, Albus found it disagreeable to board with his brother, even though the remaining allowance Kendra had bestowed on him would more than cover the extra bed. And so he transfigured part of Aberforth’s allowance into drachmas and checked him in a cheap Muggle inn near the Acropolis. 

After appraising the tiny bedroom, he dropped Aberforth’s trunk on a chair and turned to leave. 

“Do as you please,” he told the lad as he reached for the doorknob. “But no magic in front of the Muggles, no talking to them and especially no brawling.” 

“O Prefect Albus, tell me something I don’t already know,” parried his brother. In the gruff, yet mocking tones that had irritated Albus since childhood.

Albus’ curled his lips in contempt. Such cheek. This boy was completely unworthy of a backward glance. He opened the door and stepped outside. 

“Well said, Aberforth. Do us both a favor and keep yourself out of my sight until the Championship is over.”


	3. Chapter 3

Friday ~ July 25, 1897 Afternoon

Aberforth chomped down the tyropita he’d bought at the marketplace with impatience, cursing the hardness of the stone seat against his bottom. The Championship took place in a restored amphitheatre magically restored to look as it did thousands of years ago, with a duelling pit below ringed in a moat of shallow water. It was half past five in the afternoon, but the final round — the Austro-Hungarian versus Danish youth leagues -- had dragged long past the expected finish time. 

The Danish team was allegedly the best in years, with a strong following of which Aberforth was a member. He had expected it to demolish the Austro-Hungarian league. But now with a 6:2 points ratio, its chances of winning were bleak, mainly because some fleet-footed upstart exploited a weakness in the Danish formation to blast more than half of the league into the water in one go. Aberforth had not been able to catch his name but had heard that he was the youngest duelist to be accepted in any league ever, younger than the age cutoff of 15. That made sense, considering that he looked a full head shorter than all of his teammates. From a close-up through his omnioculars earlier, Aberforth had found him downright girl-faced.

Shoving the rest of the tyropita into his mouth, Aberforth adjusted his omnioculars to get a closer view of the duel raging below in the stadium pit. Just as he got a clear enough view, the flash of the upstart’s golden hair against the sun pierced his vision and made him wince. He hissed in pain and saw that the upstart had been disarmed of his wand. 

If he had blinked he would have missed it completely. For less than a second it took for the duelist to regain his senses. He dodged a spell and flicked two fingers. A wide belt of lightning erupted from his fingertips and struck the remaining opponents, who fell, quivering.

The victory horn sounded, and the stadium burst into a roar of cheers. The winners of Austria-Hungary were announced. Meanwhile, Aberforth nearly spat out the remains of the tyropita in outrage. He was fairly certain that near-lethal wandless magic wasn’t permitted. Standing up, he resisted the urge to hex a group of young wizards nearby, who were chanting loudly in German. Each additional minute spent in the theatre would worsen his mood, which had always been a force to be reckoned with, even by himself. He couldn’t figure out what infuriated him more, the cheeky grin on the upstart’s face, or the fact that he had wasted his money by watching his favorite team lose. He snatched his jacket and pushed his way out of the stadium. 

***************

Friday ~ July 25, 1897 Evening 

To conclude the second day of the Convention, the Greek Ministry of Magic ordered a lavish dinner party to be held at Poseidon’s Lair for the delegates and duelists, complete with animated statues of Greek gods and wizards. So Albus wore his best dress robes, exchanged pleasantries, drank white wine, and lined his plate with iced oysters. 

There was a decadence to sucking the oysters from their shells and relishing their cold tanginess of the sea, to the tune of the finest waltzes of the day. It was a proper reward for young geniuses. Reclining into his chair, Albus took out a cigarette. But never lit it, because then he saw _him._

____

____

This young duelling champion had entered the room borne aloft the arms of the Austro-Hungarian team amidst cheers and roars of celebration. Even with his mouth open in glee and the wreath of laurels slipping off his head, his bearing was incomparable. Albus was trying to get another look at him as the team sat down at their reserved table. Naturally, the boy was sought out by all and made to sit in the center, becoming the leader of all discussions, and the subject of all worships. Even Quidditch victories at Hogwarts did not garner such uproar, and Albus’ magical accomplishments had never been met with much affection or excitement from his peers.

Suddenly, his figure was obscured from Albus’ sight by a gown. Albus looked up at its owner and raised his eyebrows in confusion. It was Lisette, the young Belgian witch with whom he had drafted a resolution at the Convention. Only when she withdrew her outstretched hand and curtsy to him did he realize that she was inviting him to dance on the ballroom floor. He found the offer surprising and unwelcome. Albus had never been fond of dancing because his long and ungainly limbs were bound to muddle any choreography. Not even the sight of Lisette’s voluptuous frame, doe eyes, and golden curls--which won her the admiration of every other wizard at the Convention-- could compel him to dance. 

But never say never. At an early age he had learned that were only so many second chances in life, and that if he did not seize them with both hands, they would be gone forever. Lisette had just presented him an opportunity to spin her around the room, during which he could get just a bit closer to see that wizard again. So he flicked his cigarette into the floating ashtray and obliged her. 

It took them several spins to get halfway to the middle of the ballroom, during which Albus haplessly bumped into another couple twice and stepped on Lisette’s toes. As they neared the table of interest, Albus swung Lisette faster with a large stride. Now, he was finally close enough to see him. 

_A young Apollo. _In that brief moment, Albus observed the descent of the youth’s brow and nose into one slender line, the ivory paleness of his delicate face crowned by gold ringlets. As they moved away from the youth’s table, Albus felt a pang in his heart. One glimpse was enough, but also not enough. The youth possessed a haunting, almost trap-like sort of beauty — the kind that drew all towards him with its warmth and intensity, but devastated up close. And somehow, he also looked familiar.__

Something welled from the pit of Albus’ stomach. Was it dread or longing? He couldn’t tell. But whatever it was, it felt strong enough to force him to excuse himself from the rest of the waltz. There was no love lost between him and Lisette, who was so disappointed by the dancing skills of Britain’s top young wizard that she’d planned to depart in a huff as soon as possible. But she returned to the floor almost immediately on the arm of another. 

Albus returned alone to his seat to shake off the profoundness of his reaction. But the enchanted orchestra was too loud for him to have peace of mind, so he went upstairs to the balcony to observe the night lights of the city.


End file.
